Like a recurring bad dream

Beta HCG = 0

How can this be? Where is my happy ending?

I am so sad right now, I don’t know what else to say. I didn’t want to leave my supportive Internet posse in suspense.

Sadly, this is not just another sad ending, it’s the end of the road. Maybe I do have a bit more to say.

What this cycle means:

I will most likely never carry my husband’s biological child.

I will not be a mother at the age of 38. 39 is now the youngest I can hope for even if we find some sort of miracle. (This due date would have been April, my birthday is in May.)

There is a very good chance I will never* be a mother at all and that fact is very slowly, very painfully, finally sinking in.

If I had had a crystal ball and known this* in advance, I would likely be 30 pounds thinner, we would be $45,000 richer (or at least have taken some kick ass vacations), I would have been scuba diving these past three years, been more social, been less crazy, cried less tears, laughed more often . . .

Infertility has worn away at me, one failed cycle at a time. I need a break. But it’s not a matter of a break for me. Stopping now would mean just plain stopping. I had never envisioned being a 17 year old Mom like my own mother was, but I had certainly not planned on being in my late thirties either. (Not that 38, 39, 40+ is bad, if you are up for it!) I think if I had not been through all this I would be up for motherhood at any age, but right now I just feel so worn out and tired and old. Really, really old. Much older than the 38 years my driver’s license attests to.

God, I hate this.

About Face

Wow, talk about mood swings! Last night I yelled at C. about laundry (he has a true talent for screwing it up: picture your favorite black jeans with white towels) anyway, his infraction last night was decidedly minor but I had a meltdown anyway, then I cried, but the topic kept changing, from laundry, to the movie I just saw, to having to face my SIL this afternoon, to (no kidding?) my fear of another big fat failed cycle.

I guess it was all really about the baby thing all along . . . but sometimes it’s easier to cry about the laundry.

Poor C. What the hell am I saying? Poor ME! Poor us. Poor all of us living this infertility hell.

This morning, with the light of day and a night’s sleep, I feel almost sane again, just tired. Tired of obsessing, tired of waiting, wanting, etc. Just tired.

Today’s agenda: Work half day, laundry (the right way), errands, haircut, Oscar to the vet for last set of vaccines, and a 7 yr. old birthday party (this part is fun, except SIL factor) without C. there for support. I need C. as a buffer to deal with his brother’s wife. But, with any luck I can just focus on the birthday girl and eat Pizza wearing a party hat!

About Face: I’ve gone from wishing Thursday would get here already to dreading it a bit. I don’t want this cycle to end unless it’s in a delivery room in April 2007.

Do I Dare?

Do I dare? Do I dare get my hopes up? I am currently 99.9% convinced that it worked this time. Of course this conviction comes and goes. I can be 99.9% sure it failed in another few minutes, before I write the next sentence even.

I want it so badly. It’s hard not too hope too much. I refuse to POAS this time. I may cave in Thursday morning, but I’d kind of even like to skip that angst and just let them call me this time.

I am nauseous. I have been nauseous since Thursday so I am pretty sure it’s only the progesterone talking and not soaring HCG levels. But it’s hard not to imagine that this nausea “means” something. I want it to. So badly.

I have about a dozen blog posts in my head. I ought to write a few of them. My mind is just so very flighty. I keep saving the topics until I can be more coherent. The topic’s pile up in my mind, and my blog remains devoid of content.

Ramblings, that is all I can manage at the moment; ramblings and prayers that are more like chants or pleas with a god/God I am not even sure about.

Dear God please let me keep these embryos, please. Please let them become real. Like in the book. No, not your book, I mean this book. If love really does make you real, then these two babies have to be as real as can be. I love them so much that my whole being aches with the intensity of it.

Oh, if only I had a crystal ball . . .

. . . then I could give you a real update. But, alas, I have no idea what is going on in there. I do know that I feel pretty good. And, for that at least, I can be grateful.

I got a nice fortune cookie today at lunch. So, since I haven’t shared one in a while, and it’s supposed to be the theme of my blog, here it is:

“It is most gratifying when a goal is achieved through one’s efforts.”

I’ll let you know.

In 6 days.

P3 = 27

Anything over 16 is good.

How the 2ww became a 9dw

The great thing about a blast transfer is that the 2ww is almost half over before you start because the 2ww is counted from retrieval and blasts are already 5 days old. This is especially less stressful in an FET where you have less of that pre-transfer stress like wondering how many eggs will be mature, will the man come (pun alert!) through with a nice sample, how many eggs fertilize etc. We *only* had to worry about whether the two frozen embryos we knew up front we had, would thaw, and luckily they did. (Not to minimize the crap of supression, injections, hormone moods and bloodwork, etc.) In other words, I was able to escape THIS bit.

It is odd to have my P3 already the day bed rest ends!

So, we’re awaiting those results, but like the nurse said, it’s pretty rare for it to come back low when they are giving me PIO and suppositories. Speaking of PIO. My behind is SORE! I have this very ugly bruise on one side. Not sure what went wrong there, the shot itself felt normal, but I had a little bleed under the skin, judging by the quarter sized black mark and the lump. Oh, well, all for a good cause.

Physically I feel better than I have any other cycle (no doubt due to the absence of swollen ovaries), and emotionally I feel pretty damn good as well (for the moment, knock on wood)!

Hope has been creeping in and this worries me a *bit* but so far it’s a pleasant level of hope not a frenzied one.

Another failed cycle will crush me, I know that. But, if I can manage it, I’d rather wait and be miserable only when it becomes necessary. Why not enjoy the idea of something wonderful growing inside me, even if only for 9 days?

The thing that always weirds me out about ART cycles and IVF/FET in particular is how much you know about the exactness of timing, etc. (and sadly how little this can really mean in the end). I mean, we know we have two living embryos, healthy and full of potential. We know they are five days old and have reached blast stage at last sighting. What we don’t know of course if whether they hatched and implanted. And if they have they are now “in” and if they haven’t they are already goners. It’s just so weird to contemplate it all.

The RE was pretty excited about the quality of the blasts after thaw. Apparently they shrivel up like raisins (his analogy) when they freeze and they plump back up when they thaw but most don’t quite plump all the way and look a bit irregular. Well, these two looked as round as can be. The upshot of that is that this bodes well that the embryos were strong enough to feeze and thaw this well. In theory they have a better chance of making it the rest of the way.

The embryologist later came in to wish up luck (while I was laying head tilted down on the OR bed) to say how great she thought they looked. She said she would have had a hard time picking them out from a group of fresh ones. She wished us luck that one would take. I told her I really wanted them both. She laughed and said it was funny that I mentioned that because these two embryos “behaved” oddly in the petrii dish. Usually embryos kind of repel each other and these two kept drifting together, not touching, but every time she moved them apart to observe something, they drifted back together. She smiles and said maybe this was a good omen. That would be just too amazing, if we got twins out if this deal! Two for the price of one, I like to say (Seeing that the “price” is now well over the $45K mark, they are hardly bargains! . . . even so . . .)

I don’t mean to be greedy wanting two. I know it holds more risks and all that. I know it would be more than my fair share for one go. But at 38 and nearly tapped out in more ways than one (financial, etc.) two would be really nice. I am tall and long torso’d so I figure I have a pretty good build to carry twins if any one does. I also know (but choose to ignore) that two babies have to be pretty exhausting!

OK, back to reality.

We are hoping for the best, bracing for the worst. Let the chips fall where they bay, but please oh please let luck be a baby this time!!

(I hope the comma police aren’t crying after reading this poorly punctuated post!)

Fingers crossed

Yesterday’s transfer went very well. The thaw was perfect. We put back two beautiful blasts. Everyone raved about how good they looked, as good as fresh. My EL had made it up to a respectable 9 mm. Catheter placement was ideal and now we wait.

Fingers crossed!

Spending bed rest: napping, eating (bad beagle), doing my post transfer meditation CD, watching TV, DVD’s (Desperate Housewives) and C. is home today as well, so I have my man slave (not really, but a nice idea).

All’s well in the house of beagle . . . ask me again in a few days!

P3 tomorrow and Beta July 27.

It feels so nice to have all of you cheering for us and the embies. It’s just GOT to work!

The big day

Well, it’s here, after all my fretting, transfer is in 90 minutes. I better get a shower and put some clothes on.

Have been sitting here in my PJ’s trying to catch up on all of you to distract myself. Got as far as “D” on my list. Oh well . . .

Have a great day . . .

Things that make you go Huh?? (aka WTF?)

I’d like to share this little story for the sake of the humor contained within.

First, a little background:

Part 1: I am the only child of a very stoic, Germanic, first generation immigrant sort of family. We don’t talk about stuff. We especially don’t talk about: feelings, bodily functions, sex (gasp!), etc. So, infertility is NOT a dinner conversation topic for my folks. I told them nothing at all for the longest time. I didn’t want to be judged. I didn’t want C. to be judged. I was a chicken.

Part 2: I am a registered nurse, a potter, a massage therapist, a general manager of an import business. (I’ve made reference to my “job” at various times, so this must be somewhat confusing.) In that order, the last being my current source of income. The catch? My boss and my dad are one in the same for this current job.

So, when I needed day after day after day off, coupled with late arrivals and early departures for various tests, procedures, etc., I eventually felt that I had to tell him something. But what? So I decided that the truth is always good, but I better give him the Disney version of the truth. So I (in very vague terms) explained the troubles that C. and I were having, being sure to emphasize that no I did not have an STD from my slutty 20’s (I was not slutty, but having any fun at all was too much I guess) and that C. was a manly as ever, he has lots of manly sperm, it’s just that there are these unexplainable antibodies causing trouble, blah, blah, blah . . . so we’re doing IVF, you know that test tube baby thing . . . did he want me to explain more or stop telling him anything at all . . . he thanked me for telling him and thought that was as much as he needed to know, they were just worried about all these doctors appointments. Blah, blah, blah . . . so I figured I had it covered. Whew. Deep breath.

(an aside within an aside:) With my parents it is important to explain the absence of fault as well as can be done. When I had walking pneumonia, along with some sympathy, their immediate reaction was “where did I get it?” As though I go about life licking germs off of public toilet seats or something. People just get sick, there is not always a “reason” or a “cause” and most often not one they’ve brought onto themselves . . . Oh, but I digress . . . see why I have so much self blame in this infertility thing?? What did I do to deserve this, etc. My parents programed me to think this way, I swear!

So that was right around IVF#1, no questions since. Fast forward to now.

I tell my Dad that I need a few days off. He says “Oh, are you and C. going away somewhere nice?” I say “No, we’re doing that IVF thing again, but this time I needed less time off because we already have embryos frozen at the hospital.”

So he says:

Drum roll please . . .

“Who gave them to you?”

Huh????

I explain that these embryos are ours and that they were “left over” from the last IVF. He looks a little puzzled, but mostly relieved and says “Oh, OK then. No problem. Take whatever time you need.”

Do you think that means that he doesn’t get it?

***For the record I think that embryo donation is very cool (as a matter of fact, if anyone wants to give me a few, I’d be ever so grateful!) But, you can bet that my father has no clue that this is actually done so where did he get this idea from? Some CSI episode or a radio talk show perhaps??)***

Just the thought

Just the thought of two days of bedrest is making me want to jump out of my skin. I need a plan, a strategy. This is where you all come in. What did you do? Movie suggestions? Book suggestions? Snack suggestions? Any suggestions?? I know my blog sisters will have some brilliant ideas.

I am getting superstitious. Lucky socks are out of season, I haven’t had a good fortune cookie in AGES, I’ve mostly given up on prayer . . . so I have to have something to hold onto. I’ve somehow got the idea fixed in my mind that if I would just really do bedrest this time, maybe that will make the difference. So, I plan to be the good patient this time. No running out to the store, no hopping on and off the couch pretending to lie down all day, no sitting at the computer. I plan to be horizontal. How this can matter, I cannot fathom, but I feel I must try. As if, maybe, if I were to make this sacrifice to my freedom, the baby giving gods would find me worthy of motherhood at last.

Hell, it’s crazy, but what else is there at this stage??

So . . . suggestions???